


Muse

by itsyourgirlspooky



Category: Doki Doki Literature Club! (Visual Novel)
Genre: Character Study, Muses, Painting, This Is STUPID
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 12:25:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16429367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsyourgirlspooky/pseuds/itsyourgirlspooky
Summary: Monika's kind of like a torso, really.





	Muse

**Author's Note:**

> woo, back fron my hiatus and life screwing me up! anyways, i hope this is decent enough for y'all. might make a sequel from how ambiguous the ending is, but no promises. kind of filler, but i'm starting to think everything i write is filler.
> 
> rm - tokyo

Monika's life is monotonous, to say the least. It's not that she's boring, however; it's not that she doesn't stand out. Quite frankly, she stands out too much - in class, in her circles of friends, in everybody's mind - and Monika, Monika seems to be the apple of everyone's eyes. 'Gifted, talented, a child prodigy,' they'd all said. Her parents would always nod along approvingly, proud of their daughter's outstanding brilliance.

So no, that's not the reason why she's, well, bored. Besides, Monika isn't always, 24/7 'bored'. She still feels, can still smile or laugh or cry or yell. A small, amused smile always forms on her lips when she meets someone new. Whenever something particularly pleases her, she claps her hands together, eyes clenched shut, the corners of her mount turning up in a blinding show of teeth. And she feels the emotion flowing from each action, each little burst of feeling flowing through her veins and seeping into her bones until there's enough sentiment for her to mean it.

Her 'bored' is more of a general discontent. An overall dissatisfaction with life. Not exactly stemming from a thought of not having enough, for Monika's actually unbelievably grateful for whatever comes with being born with a silver spoon in her mouth, for she thanks the heavens every night for all she already has, but from, from....

Okay, so maybe she does feel like it's not enough, whatever life has gifted to her. But, she doesn't necessarily want another toy, doesn't exactly yearn for new clothes, nor anything of those likes. What she feels is missing is not exactly touchable, but still very much achievable. It's... it's an emotion, a sentimental sort of thing that, if she's given a pen and paper, she'd be able to write out a poem with a thousand metaphors to describe it all, those sensations and thoughts that occasionally fester into her mind from this passion, or better say, lack of it.

Simply put, she wishes she had a motive. A drive. Something that keeps her toes pointed, keeps her from diving back under the covers so suddenly on a Sunday morning, keeps that ink flowing from her pen as she fervorly scribes whatever philosophical phrases she's come up with onto her treasured notebook.

Sure, her parents are the reason why her grades are so hard to knock down. Sure, her friends are why she's extra attentive to her surroundings, emerald-green eyes picking up on and analyzing even the littlest of details, just to make sure they're all comfortable and happy, that nobody's trying to hide anything. Sure, everybody else with their eyes on her is the cause of her being constantly mindful of what she says, what she does, what she thinks. But, if what her art teacher tells her is really true, then they're not truly her motivators. Not... not her source of inspiration. They don't exactly, really ignite a burning fire of vigor inside of her, just serve as painful reminders that people are watching over, anticipating the eventual triumph of the smart, talented, perfect girl. Or maybe her downfall. Monika knows there's such thing as bad people, and with all those individuals she'd already and is going to meet, it's not too far of a stretch she'll eventually come along them.

She still remembers that faithful day in art class. Her teacher is a young eccentric man that sometimes speaks too quickly and more often than not babbles on about things nobody really understands. Art projects are always nonsensical with him, ranging from making sculptures of obscure landmarks using plastic straws to animal masks out of paper bags and cheap cardboard. But on that very day, he had only the simplest of tasks for the class to do.

"I want you all to paint absolutely anything you want," he said, his smile seeming to only grow larger at the confused looks of his students. "This painting should be something special to you, something that invokes the deepest of emotions in your very body. There is always something or someone in our lives that we hold so close to our heart that the feeling itself is like power, power for us to take control and direct us to our purposes. This feeling that shapes us to be who we are, that tells us to push forward no matter what, that gives that finishing, personal touch to everything we create, and why even do, that feeling is sparked by a muse, and every true artist has a muse, no matter how common or ridiculous that muse is. So, paint! Paint whatever your heart desires! Paint whatever your muse inspires you to."

The sound of shoes thundering across vinyl tiled flooring quickly echoed about the room, and Monika, being the good kid she is, followed after her eager classmates, who were already excitedly buzzing about ideas for their paintings. 

"Hey, Monika," Ouji greeted, nudging the girl's shoulder with her own. Her soft purple eyes poked out from under her long lashes, irises sparkling, lips parting slightly as she looked up at the brunette. "What're you painting?"

Monika laughed, unsure. "I'll think of something," she answered, giving Ouji a sweet smile, through which she hoped the younger would take a hint. Ouji thankfully did, backtracking to fall into step with Asuka, a redhead with eyes too blue to be natural. Monika did her best not to make her relief too obvious while picking out all the necessary materials and then hastening over to her usual canvas and easel, tucked away in the corner of the classroom.

Sunlight was filtering in through the windows when Monika arrived. The canvas was still neatly propped up by its easel, hardwood grains occasionally sticking out in sharp, thin spikes. Maybe she should've considered the very obvious safety hazard and picked out one someplace else, but it was at least three feet away from the nearest canvas and easel, and that meant at least three feet away from the nearest person, a lower chance of someone prodding her about her painting. It's hard for her to dabble in the creative when there's the feeling of a thousand pairs of critical eyes trying to drill their stares into her subconsciousness, even if the more rational part of her reminds herself that nobody really cares once they've dipped their paintbrushes into the paint. Monika still insisted on sitting there, anyway, settling onto the woody little stool before squeezing brightly colored paints onto her palette, doing so robotically as her mind drew blanks.

What was she to paint? She hadn't known when Ouji asked her, and she still didn't even know now, with everything she possibly needed already ready, waiting for her to unleash whatever creativity she had in store. Monika's brow knitted together, forming a frown, her lips pursing as her hand clasped onto the paintbrush. He'd said to paint according to her muse, but did she even have one in the first place?

Frustatedly, Monika dips her paintbrush into a dollop of blue paint,  before dragging it across her canvas in long, aggressive strokes. Nothing came to her mind as any sort of inspiration, and she was left to painting on autopilot, colors that didn't quite register in her mind soon filling up the once plain canvas. At one point she lifted her brush to see what exactly she was trying to create, but what stared back at her was just a mess of blue hues and several flowy lines of white. She had unconsciously painted the ocean, or what could've been interpreted as such. Perhaps the ocean had been her muse all along. 

The idea was quickly shot down, though, the moment her teacher popped up behind her, an eyebrow raised as he sized up her painting. Monika tried to not focus on his judging gaze too much, continuing her mindless brush movements because if she were to think, all there would be were negative thoughts. 

"It's a nice painting, Monika," he began, the skin around his eyes creasing as he appeared to squint at her art piece. Monika still continued painting, but there was something more stiff in the way she did so, her mind mulling over what he might possibly say next. After a short pause, one in which allowed Monika to hear her heart pounding in her chest, he said,"I'm afraid you didn't paint according to your muse, however."

Monika's heart sunk at his words, the disappointment clenching onto her mind, gnawing at and corrupting her thoughts. His dissatisfaction wouldn't have happened if she just had an ounce of inspiration in her. Why couldn't she think of muse? Why must she have let a muse slip past her reach, causing her to fail this otherwise simple task? Monika forced herself to speak out an "I'm sorry, sir", hoping her low spirits would go unnoticed by him. She'd already disappointed him. Him worrying that his comment had affected her this badly despite it being true would only guilt-trip her even more.

"No need to be sorry, Monika. This is your first time trying to paint based on your muse, isn't it? Well, Monika dear, it isn't always going to be easy, so don't be too upset! It even took me a while to get the hang of it, because-"

"I don't have a muse."

Silence. Monika felt like kicking herself for speaking out, because all she'd meant to do was think of it, not voice it out loud! It was such a rude thing for her to do, so outright disrespectful to someone far older than her, and if he were only somewhat displeased before, he was certainly angered now. Hanging her head low to look at that sad, plain floor, she opened her mouth to apologize, but her teacher beat her to it.

"Oh, I see. You don't have a muse? No source of inspiration? Nothing at all?"

Slowly, Monika shook her head, mind reeling in shock from the not-so-livid tone his teacher questioned her with. If anything, he had asked in a small voice, half in disbelief, half in realization. 

"Well then, Monika, that's perfectly fine. You can't force yourself to have a muse. It's something that happens naturally, completely unexpected, so it's absolutely fine that you haven't found yours yet! Just finish up your painting. Add a bit of a sense of depth, and it'll turn out fantastic. Not that it doesn't already look great, however. Keep on painting!" 

And just like that he was gone, hovering over the shoulder of another student, icy blue eyes studying his painting. Monika's own emerald-green eyes look up again, to fully observe her painting. Pay a bit more attention to detail. There's really only gradients and gradients of blue, and occasionally white marks scattered about the terribly, um, blue expanse. But that was there was nothing slse to it. No hidden meanings nor symbolisms, no clear signs of passion and energy among the strokes, no heart put into the final piece. Sure, it looked all nice and pretty, but that's all there was. Just a visually pleasing painting of the sea. 

There was no muse to it.

...

Monika sits by the window, earphones plugged in, soft, ambient music playing from them. Her watchful eyes take in the familiar surroundings of the train station, several tourists and citizens milling about the scrubbed-down floors. It's a pleasantly sunny day, with colors of sky blue visible despite the steel platform ceilings, giving a sort of welcoming vibe to the usually sad and grey structure. The soothing, deep voice flowing through her ears only helps to amplify that feeling of calm settling inside of her, originally sparked from how peaceful the entire day is. She taps on her phone a few times to see what she's listening to, and lets out a small chuckle when she finds out it's a song called 'tokyo'. It's fitting in all honesty, considering where's she's currently heading to, especially with the eerily comforting vibes of the song.

Finding a muse is both scary and beautiful, after all.


End file.
